Sculpture. Sculpture is defined as the art which, through the use of design and solid materials, imitates with the chisel the palpable objects of nature. In order to examine this topic methodically, we shall consider ancient sculpture and modern sculpture separately; but before discussing either, we feel it incumbent upon us to transcribe here a segment of M. Falconet's reflections on sculpture in general. He has recently brought them up to date, and since he has declared that they were meant for the Encyclopedia , we shall fulfill the intention of that skillful artist and let him speak for himself.

Sculpture, he says, like history, is one of the most enduring repositories of men's virtues and weaknesses. If the statue of Venus represents the object of a profligate cult, the statue of Marcus Aurelius attests to the homage paid to a benefactor of humanity.

This art, by displaying deified vices, makes the horrors transmitted by history even more striking; on the other hand, the precious features of those rare human beings whose lives should have lasted as long as their statues, incite us to a noble emulation of the virtues which thus have been preserved from oblivion. Caesar sees the statue of Alexander. He becomes pensive, sheds tears, and exclaims: "What happiness was yours! At my age you had already conquered half the world and I have as yet done nothing for my glory!" He then did so much, that his glory was buried under the ruins of his country.

Thus the worthiest goal of sculpture, considered from the moral point of view, is to perpetuate the memory of famous men and to provide models of virtue which are all the more effective because these men can no longer be the objects of envy. We have the portrait of Socrates and we venerate it. Who knows if we would have the courage to love Socrates were he living among us?

Sculpture has another side, seemingly less useful, namely, when it serves simply to decorate or embellish; but this does not prevent it from inclining the soul toward good or evil. Sometimes it will arouse only indifference. A sculptor, like a writer, can be either praiseworthy or reprehensible, depending on whether his subjects are honorable or licentious.

In its endeavors to imitate the surfaces of the human body, sculpture must not be satisfied with cold resemblance. Verisimilitude, even though perfectly rendered, could only give rise, by its precision, to an approbation that is as cold as the resemblance itself. The soul of the spectator would remain unmoved. It is living, vivid, passionate nature that the sculptor must express through marble, bronze, stone, etc.

Everything that is a subject of imitation for the sculptor ought to be for him a subject of continuous study. Such study, illuminated by genius, directed by taste and reason, carried out with precision, encouraged by the beneficent attention of sovereigns and the advice and approbation of great artists, will produce masterpieces similar to those precious monuments that have triumphed over the barbarism of the ages. Thus those sculptors who will not be merely satisfied with paying these sublime works the homage they deserve, but who will study them carefully and will take them as models for their own work, will acquire that pre-eminence that we admire so much in statues of the Greeks.

The beautiful statues of antiquity are not alone in providing us with inspiration. Such is the case with all works of genius whatever they may be. The reading of Homer, this sublime painter, will uplift the soul of an artist and present him with images of greatness and majesty.

The noblest and most sublime creations of a sculptor should be merely the expression of the possible relationships in nature, their effects, their fortuitous interplay. This means that the beautiful, even the ideal in sculpture as in painting, should be an epitome of the real beauty of nature. There is an absolute beauty, but it is scattered throughout the universe. To feel, to assemble, to bring together, to select, even to imagine these composite parts of beauty, either in the character of a figure like Apollo, or in the arrangement of a composition, such as the bold creations of Lanfranc, [1] Correggio, or Rubens, is to express through art the ideal of beauty that has its origin in nature.

Above all, sculpture is the foe of all those forced attitudes that nature rejects and which some artists have used needlessly, merely to show that they could ignore models. Sculpture is equally opposed to sumptuous draperies, which are merely superfluous ornamentation in the form of a bizarre arrangement of folds, and it scorns affected contrasts in composition as well as artificial contrasts of light and shadow. It is beside the point that such defects are in the nature of the object itself; in reality they merely result from absence of orderly arrangement. They infallibly produce confusion in the spectator and make little impression upon his soul. The more obvious it is that an effort is being made to impress us, the less moved we are. This leads us to the conclusion that the fewer artifices an artist uses, the more merit there is to the effect he produces and the more willingly the spectator responds to the feelings the artist sought to convey. This simplicity created the masterpieces of Greece, as if they were meant to become the eternal models for artists.

Sculpture has a narrower scope than painting; but its special subjects as well as those common to both arts are more difficult to represent: for instance, expression, the science of outline, the difficult art of draping and distinguishing different types of materials.

Sculpture faces difficulties peculiarly its own. (1) A sculptor cannot abandon any part of his study in order to pursue fleeting shadows or practice evasions and take short cuts. (2) If he has finished his perspective, he has completed one aspect only of his task, because his work can be viewed from as many vantage points as the space around it permits. (3) The imagination of a sculptor must be as vigorous, not to say as rich, as that of a painter. His genius must also be capable of a sustained effort that will make it possible for him to overcome the distaste that arises from the techniques of his work, the fatigue and the slowness of his performance. Genius cannot be acquired. It develops, grows, and is strengthened through practice. A sculpture uses his genius less frequently than a painter, and this constitutes an additional difficulty, for sculpture must give evidence of as much genius as painting does. (4) The sculptor, being deprived of the seductive charms of color, must use his most skillful means to attract attention. How much precision, how much truth, how much expression must be put into his work in order to retain this attention!

Thus the sculptor will be expected to hold the interest of the spectator not only by the total effect but also by the effect of each individual part, for the work of a sculptor consists most frequently in a single figure in which he cannot concentrate all the different elements that make a painting appealing. Painting, quite apart from color, fixes our attention through different groups, varied attributes, ornaments, expressions of persons who are part of the main theme. It appeals through its background, its setting as well as its total effect. In a word, it commands attention as a whole. The sculptor on the other hand most frequently can say one word only. This word must be "sublime." This is the way by which the sculptor will approach his goal and move the soul to the extent to which it can be moved.

Some very fine sculptors have not disdained the use of color. Rome and Paris can provide examples. Doubtlessly, substances of different hues, used judiciously, can produce picturesque effects, but distributed without harmony; such juxtaposition makes sculpture disagreeable, even shocking. The sheen of gilt, the sudden clash of the discordant colors of different marbles might dazzle a populace attracted by tawdry glitter. The man of taste will be disgusted. The surest thing would be to use gold, bronze, or different marbles for the purpose of decoration only. Thus sculpture does not lose its real character and take on one that is sometimes false and almost always ambiguous. Remaining within its prescribed framework, sculpture will lose none of its advantages, which would certainly be the case if it should use the techniques of painting. Each of these arts has its own means of imitating nature: color is not that of sculpture.

Painting may have the advantage of color, but how many difficulties does it not experience which are entirely alien to sculpture. It is very difficult to achieve an easy illusion by means of color and this is proven by the dearth of talent in this field. The variety of the painter's subject matter, far greater than that of the sculptor, necessitates much specialized study. The true imitation of sky, water, landscape; of the times of day and the varied light effects, as well as the law according to which a painting should be illuminated only by the sun—all necessitate knowledge and labor from the painter which the sculptor can dispense with. It would be impossible to know the two arts if one neglected their inter-relation. It would be wrong to prefer one over the other because of their peculiar difficulties. Painting can be pleasing even if it lacks force and genius. But without these double foundations, the works of sculpture are insipid. If they are equally inspired by genius, there is no reason why the two arts should not be very close to each other, in spite of the differences in individual steps. If they are not similar in everything, they certainly have a family resemblance.

Let us elaborate this point, it is in the interest of the arts. Let us elaborate in order to enlighten those who judge without knowing the principles, which happens frequently even with first-rate minds. If, by some aberration which luckily is rarely encountered, a sculptor would take the irrational passion of Borromini for genius and enthusiasm, let him be assured that such deviations, far from embellishing the subject, will remove it from truth and merely represent disorders of the imagination. Even though this artist was not a sculptor, he can serve as a dangerous example, for the same spirit that directs the architect also directs the painter and the sculptor. The artist who uses simple means leaves himself open and exposed and is judged all the more easily because he uses no subterfuges to escape scrutiny or disguise his lack of value. Let us therefore not give the name of beauty to something that merely dazzles the eyes and corrupts taste. This taste, so justly valued in the creations of the human mind, is merely the result of common sense acting upon our ideas—if they are too vivid, common sense tones them down, checks them; if they languish, it urges them on. It is to this happy equilibrium that sculpture, together with all the other pleasing arts, owes its true, its only enduring beauty.

Since sculpture requires the most rigid precision, a negligent design can be tolerated less than in painting. This does not mean that Rafael [ sic ] or Domenichino were not precise and knowledgeable draftsmen, and that all great painters do not consider this an essential part of their art, but it is possible for a painting to attract by being beautiful in various ways even if design is not its strong feature. The women painted by Rubens are proof of this: in spite of their Flemish and incorrect [ sic ] character, they will always attract through the charm of color. If they were to be executed in sculpture according to the same design, the charm would be considerably lessened if not entirely destroyed. This would be even worse with some figure by Rimbrand [ sic ].

Why is it that a sculptor can neglect certain aspects of his art even less than a painter? This is perhaps due to three considerations: the time an artist gives to his work (we cannot accept that a man has given long years to producing something commonplace); the price of materials used (how can one compare a bit of canvas and a block of marble!); the enduring quality of the work (everything around the marble disappears but the marble remains; even broken, the pieces preserve for future ages enough to laud or to condemn).

Once the objective and general character of sculpture has been noted, one still has to consider it as subject to specific laws with which the artist must be familiar. The artist must know these laws, so as not to transgress them or overextend their limits.

It would be making the limits too rigid if one were to claim that works of sculpture cannot be full of life because they have to be contained within the dimensions of the marble block. One only needs to see the "Gladiator" or the "Atalanta." These Greek figures prove sufficiently that marble obeys when the sculptor knows how to command.

But this latitude the sculptor has of making marble grow, so to speak, must not go so far as to overcrowd the external shapes of his figures with details that are unnecessary and contrary to the movement he represents. A work placed in free space or against a background of trees or buildings should stand out clearly and be visible as far as possible. Well distributed light and shadow will enhance the main shapes and the over-all effect. No matter from what distance one sees the "Gladiator" or "Apollo," there is no doubt about their motions.

Among the difficulties facing sculpture, one is well known and deserves the minutest attention of the artist. Once the marble has been chipped away, the artist cannot start anew and can make no basic changes either in the whole composition or in some detail. This is an overwhelming reason for the artist to study his model, to be sure of his guide when he works the marble. This is why, for important works, sculptors make their models, or at least their rough sketch on the spot where the finished work will be. That way they can be sure of light, shadow, and the over-all effect of a statue that otherwise could have been perfect in the light of the studio and yet produced a bad effect on the actual site.

This difficulty is compounded still further. Even if the model has been well conceived and clearly defined, the sculptor can have a moment of flagging or wandering attention. If he works at such a moment, I have seen him mutilate some important part of the figure he was working on while under the impression that he was following or even improving the model. The next day, with a clear head, he recognizes his mistake without being able to remedy it!

Fortunate advantage of painting! It is not subjected to such a rigorous law. The painter changes, corrects, redoes his canvas as he wishes; at worst he repaints it or takes another. Can a sculptor get rid of his marble? If he had to begin again, could one compare the loss of time, the fatigue, the expense?

Again, if the painter has drawn his lines correctly, has indicated light and shadow well, a different background or a different illumination will not deprive him of all the fruits of his skill and care. But even if a work of sculpture produces a harmonious effect of light and shade, one only has to illuminate it from the right when it is meant to receive light from the left, or from below instead from above, and the harmony will be destroyed. If the artist has not been able to foresee different illuminations, the result will be disagreeable. Often also, in order to make sure that his work can be viewed from all possible perspectives, the artist sacrifices the beauty of a part in search of a mediocre unity. He is fortunate if the painful care he has to lavish on his task does not chill his ardor and leads him to the perfecting of the part!

In order to clarify this thought even further, I relate the statement by the Count de Caylus. [3] "Painting," he says, "chooses of the three times of day the one that can light up the surface; sculpture does not need this choice, it uses them all; this wealth requires a multiplicity of study and care. The artist has to consider and think of all the parts of the whole and work accordingly. Sculpture creates its own light; its composition provides its highlights. In this respect the sculptor is more creative than the painter; but he can achieve this only with much toil and fatigue."

When a sculptor has overcome these difficulties, artists and true experts will undoubtedly be grateful to him. But how many are there, even among those who like our work, who know nothing of the difficulties and will never know what it has cost us to overcome them?

The nude is the main subject of the sculptor's study. He must above all acquire knowledge of bone structure, of external anatomy, and imitate assiduously all the parts and all the movements of the human body. The schools of Paris and Rome require this exercise and provide facilities where the students can acquire this essential knowledge. But there can be flaws in nature and the young student who sees them will inevitably copy and incorporate them in his work. Therefore he needs a reliable guide in order to know correct proportions and beautiful forms.

The Greek statues are the most reliable models. Being the most perfect representations of the human body they are and always will be the pattern of precision, grace, and nobility. Examined superficially these statues do not seem extraordinary, or even difficult to imitate. But the intelligent and observant artist will discover in some of them not only a thorough knowledge of drawing but also, if I may be permitted to use this word, a vivid life-force. Therefore the sculptors who have studied ancient figures with the greatest care and discrimination are the most distinguished artists. I say "discrimination" and do so with good reason.

No matter how beautiful the ancient statues are, they are the works of the human hand, and thus subject to human frailty. Therefore it would be dangerous for an artist to admire without distinction all that we call ancient. It could happen that having admired in the ancient statues qualities that are not really there, his efforts to copy them would not be admired. An artist must be guided by a clear, informed, unbiased understanding so as to distinguish between the perfections and the imperfections of the ancients, and having learned to appreciate them he follows in their footsteps with complete confidence, because they will always lead to greatness. This judicious discernment gives evidence of a keen mind, and the talent of the sculptor is in proportion to his accuracy. Even a moderate acquaintance with sculpture among the Greeks proves sufficiently that they too had moments of aberration. Taste was the same everywhere; but not all artists had the skill. The student of an excellent sculptor could have the manner of his teacher without having his mind.

Of all the figures of antiquity that have survived, those best suited to transmitting the great principles of the nude are the "Gladiator," "Apollo," "Laocoön," the "Farnese Hercules," the "Torso," the "Antinous," the group of "Castor and Pollux," the "Hermaphrodite," and the "Medici Venus." These are the masterpieces modern sculptors should study all the time in order to instill such beauty in their own works. Only artists and a very small number of experts will appreciate this careful study of ancient figures, as well as the most perfect knowledge of muscles, the precision in expression, even the art of portraying the feel of skin and expressing the mobility of the human body.

Since sculpture does not merely exist for those who practice it and those few who have acquired some knowledge of it, the sculptor must be able to combine his studies, which are important, with a superior gift. This gift, so essential and so rare, though it could be within reach of all artists, is feeling. It should permeate all their works. It is feeling which instills life. If all the artist's studies constitute the foundation of his art, feeling is its soul. Acquired knowledge is an individual thing, feeling belongs to all men; it is universal in that all men can judge the works permeated by feeling.

To portray the forms of the body without imparting feeling is to fulfill only half of one's task. To lavish it over everything, without regard for precision, is to give only sketches and produce merely dreams whose impression vanishes as soon as the work is no longer seen, even if one has looked at it for a long time. To unite the two parts (oh, so difficult!), that is the sublime perfection of sculpture. The articles on sculptors have displayed before the reader the marvels they have created. Subsequent articles will deal with ancient and modern sculpture and, finally, with the methods of working in marble, stone, wood, plaster, papier-mâché, and bronze. As far as the most interesting subjects like bas-relief and draperies are concerned, these have been discussed under the articles Bas-relief and Draperies ( Bas-Relief, Draperies ).

Notes

1. [Giovanni de Stefano Lanfranco, or Lanfranchi (ca. 1581–1647), a painter of the Lombard school.]

2. ["They do not all have the same appearance, and yet are not altogether different, as it should be with sisters" (Ovid, Metamorphoses II. 13–14).]

3. [Anne Claude Philippe de Turbière, Count de Caylus, well known traveler, collector, and writer of the eighteenth century, honorary member of The Academy of Painting as well as of The Academy of Inscriptions. His Recueil d'Antiquités égyptiennes, étrusques, grecques, romaines et gauloises appeared between 1752–1767. Cf. J. Babelon, Choix de Bronzes de la Collection Caylus, donnée au roi en 1762 (Paris: Van Oest, 1928). In spite of the fact that he was often attacked by the philosophes , his opinions are frequently cited in the Encyclopedia .]