AND ANOTHER THING
If you want to reunite the Two Cultures, teach drawing
PAUL JOHNSON
The controversy about artists and the painting of clouds rather misses the point. All good artists observe clouds closely and draw them accurately when they choose. The meteorologist who condemned Rubens ignored the fact that the great man, one of the most exact depictors of nature who ever lived, chose to rearrange all the elements in his canvas to create his composition — one reason why the 'Château de Steen' in the National Gallery is such a delightful picture, the epitome of pastoral bliss. I have no doubt Rubens made cloud studies like Constable's, which have not survived. And Constable's were made, on the top of Hampstead Heath, as aides-memoires, useful when composing his finished pictures, which often break the meteorological rules, too, for the sake of artistic effect. I doubt, either, that Constable used a camera obscura, as David Hockney suggests — certainly not when sketching clouds. I think Hockney is confusing him with Gainsborough, who delighted in scien- tific aids to painting, or possibly Cornelius Varley (brother of the great John), a brilliant watercolourist who not only used such devices but invented them. Indeed, he even- tually became a professional designer of ingenious optical instruments.
This ability to move easily between the worlds of science and art, so typical of the early 19th century, before the Two Cultures became distinct, suggests that the problem today is not the failure of artists to under- stand science but the failure of scientists to practise the arts, and, in particular, to draw. The early meteorologists and geologists were all meticulous draughtsmen. John Dal- ton, the founder of atomic theory, came to understand matter by tramping the Cumbri- an hills with thermometer, theodolite and drawing materials. His friend Jonathan Otley could not only draw but produced the first accurate map of the Lake District. Later his Concise Description of the English Lakes and Adjacent Mountains, illustrated by superb outline sketches of the hills, was a pioneering work on stratification, cleavage and rock formation. The Revd William Buckland, who gave the first lectures on mineralogy at Oxford, and his outstanding pupil Charles Lye11 were wonderful draughtsmen. Lyell, like all good landscape painters, could look into the hills and grasp what had happened and was happening.
I can think of few original scientists and engineers of those heroic days who did not practise drawing all their lives. Charles Bell, who created anatomy as a modern sci- ence, was admired as much for his artistry as for his knowledge. His sumptuous quar- to, Essays on the Anatomy of Expression in Painting (1806), was illustrated by his own drawings. David Wilkie did a few of the plates, and Sydney Smith revised the text `to eliminate Bell's Scotticisms'. Charles Darwin found this pioneering work invalu- able in writing his Origin of Species. Bell used to lecture to artists on anatomy, and he argued that art and science had the same aim, `to lay a foundation for the study of the influence of mind over body'. Queen Charlotte, a skilled watercolourist, found his book a 'delight and a godsend'. When this was reported back to Bell, a radical, he commented, 'Oh happiness in the extreme that I should ever write anything fit to be dirtied by her snuffy fingers!'
Scientists like Humphry Davy, the friend of Coleridge and Wordsworth, and Michael Faraday were practised draughtsmen, who thought in linear as well as transcendental terms. The men who made engines were positive that to draw well was the key to understanding motive power. James Nas- myth, the inventor of the steam-hammer and the son of a great artist, was taught to draw from infancy and regarded his graphic skills as essential. He wrote:
Mechanical drawing is the alphabet of the engineer. Without it, the workman is a mere `hand'. With it, he indicates the possession of a 'head'.
Or again: Drawing is the Educator of the Eye. It is more interesting than words. It is graphic language.
Joseph Clement, the pioneering machine- tool inventor, took drawing lessons from Peter Nicholson, the expert on industrial carpentry and the design of power-looms, and when he showed his drawings was told, `Young man, you'll do!' In London in 1813 he went to offer his services to Alexander Galloway at his machine-tool shop in Hol- born and was asked, 'What can you do?' I can work at the forge.' What else?' I can turn.' What else?' I can draw."What, can you draw? Then I will engage you!'
Isambard Kingdom Brunel produced beautiful colour-wash drawings of all his projects, having been taught by his father that 'drawing is the alphabet of the engi- neer'. The son's immense new sawing mill at Chatham had Regency wings, with a Moor- ish Great Sawing Hall. He designed his tun- nels and aqueducts with Tuscan capitals and astragals. Most mechanical geniuses were artists as well. Thomas Telford never designed an ugly object, from bridges, canals and locks to milestones. You cannot look at George Stephensons's 'Rocket' in the Sci- ence Museum at South Kensington without seeing that Stephenson loved the creature he designed and built. And when he felt his own design skills were insufficient, he engaged the best artists. His Stockton–Dar- lington line employed Ignatius Bonomi, a master, to design its stonework, including the magnificent Skerne Bridge. When John Rennie, another fine draughtsman, put up his new Waterloo Bridge in 1817, Canova, the sculptor, said, 'It was worth a journey from Rome to see.' I note also that the American inventor Robert Fulton, who designed the first steamship (and the proto- type submarine), began life as a painter of miniatures. Like da Vinci, he based his engines on drawing nature, especially the movements of fishes. Drawing indeed pene- trated every field in those glorious times. Both Hector Berlioz and Felix Mendelssohn were superb draughtsmen (Mendelssohn's watercolours of the Scottish Highlands are a joy). The leading pianist Moscheles, who saw the original manuscript-score of the Romeo and Juliet symphony on Berlioz's desk, described it as 'exquisitely penned'.
What a difference from our philistine world of today, when many art schools (let alone ordinary schools) refuse to teach drawing. If I were Minister for the Arts, I would make drawing in our academies com- pulsory. That would be the best way to over- turn the horrible monster-trio dictatorship in this miserable art-starved country of Charles Saatchi, Nicholas Serota and Norman Rosenthal. I am glad to hear that the Prince of Wales's Foundation is to hold a 'Drawing Mini-Marathon' from 11 to 16 September. Gus Cummins, RA, will lead the still-life classes and Ann Dowker of the National Gallery the life classes. Masses of talent and even genius will be swarming around. John Ward, our greatest living draughtsman, who resigned from the Royal Academy in protest at Rosenthal's activities, gave me an applica- tion form and I propose to attend if they will let me, and I will report to Spectator readers on what transpires. A bas la tyrannie des Brickies! Vtve la resistance artistique!
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