LITMIR.BIZ

      Fundamental Considerations

      Greek Sculpture in its Relation to Nature: The Mental Image

      Greek sculpture exhibits a quality which is strongly opposed to what is termed realism. Since realism and idealism are opposites, Greek sculpture has often been called idealistic. The realist in art endeavours to represent nature as it really is, with all its accidentals and incidentals, and is often so far carried away by these minor quantities that he is unable to catch the true, though fleeting, essence of the object. The idealist consciously disregards the apparent details, spending his effort in emphasising the idea which he finds embodied in the object selected for representation. Both men work from the visible objects of nature, which they try to reproduce. Not so the Greeks.

      Everyone has what may be styled a mental image or a memory picture of his familiar surroundings. To represent these mental images accurately was the aim of the Greeks. They endeavoured to make real their ideas, and are therefore realists rather than idealists. But since both these terms are presently applied to the classes of people mentioned above, it is confusing to use them in speaking of the ancient Greeks. This is also true of the modern use of the word “elimination,” by which most writers mean “an intentional omission or suppression of details”. The absence of unnecessary details in Greek sculpture was not due to conscious eclecticism, but to the fact that such details have no place in one’s mental images.

      The mental image or the memory picture is the impression left upon one after seeing a great many objects of the same type. It is in the nature of the Platonic idea, purified and freed from all individual or accidental ingredients. At times it may even be strangely at variance with a particular object of the class to which it belongs. The human memory is a peculiarly uncertain faculty, and in its primitive stage, though quick to respond, very inaccurate. The shape of a square sheet of paper is readily remembered, and so is a pencil or any other uniform and simple object. Our mental image of an animal is less distinct. We remember the head and the legs and the tail, and perhaps the body, if it is a prominent part, as in the case of a dog or a horse; but all these parts are unconnected, and if a child, for instance, is asked to draw a man, he will remember the head and arms and legs, but will not know how to join them together. His mental image of the man as a whole is too indistinct to guide him. In nature the several parts are united in easily flowing curves – they grow together; in our mental image they are simply put together.

      This process of putting together is entirely unconscious, causing us little concern unless we are compelled to reproduce it on paper or in stone, and are forced to compare it with the actual objects about us. Professor Löwy[3] cites a remarkable instance of a perverse mental image on the part of the crude Brazilian draughtsmen who were much impressed by the mustaches of the Europeans and represented them as growing on the foreheads instead of on the upper lips. In the mental image the upper lip is unimportant, while the broad stretch of the forehead fills a more prominent place. It is on the forehead, therefore, that the moustache was introduced, despite its being contrary to nature and proven wrong with even the hastiest glance.

      It is not necessary, however, to go so far afield in order to realise the peculiar pranks of mental images. Let the reader call to mind pictures of horses, dogs, flies, lizards, and the like. Horses and dogs he will see in profile; lizards and flies from above. If he is shown one of the recent posters of racing horses from above, such a view does not at once agree with his memory image, and requires a special mental effort to be understood, however accurate it may be. The same is true of the picture of a fly in profile or, perhaps, a dog seen from the front. Neither of these pictures immediately conveys to him the idea of the animal represented, though it probably is more like this particular view of the animal than his own distorted mental image.

      On general principles our mental images of familiar objects ought to be the more distinct. This is, however, not always the case. When we see an animal the first time we carefully observe it; with every succeeding view we give it less attention, and by and by the most cursory glance satisfies us. Ultimately, we carry away with us a mental image the haziness of which in the lack of details corresponds to the lack of attention we finally bestow upon it. Expressed in drawing it will be far removed from, and little resemble the animal whose mental image, penned through nature, has become so familiar as to cease being of interest. When a primitive draughtsman sketches a wild beast he is apt to show much more individuality than when he is representing his own kind. The features of the Egyptians on ancient Egyptian wall paintings and reliefs are distinctly less characteristic than those of the Keftiu, or Oriental Captives, often introduced, and both fall far short of the excellence with which animals are represented.

      No mental image is ever reproduced on paper or stone as it actually is. The very attention bestowed on it in the endeavour to realise it, robs it of much of its spontaneity; and since it is the result of unconsciously observing a great many objects, it will, when consciously expressed, exhibit many gaps and hazy lines of connection, which the artist must fill as best he can.

      Another reason why all mental images cannot be accurately reproduced is that the laws of the physical universe to which the objects belong have no binding force in the world of mental images. Löwy cites as an instance of this the fact that the memory picture of a man in profile may, and with primitive people does, contain two eyes. You cannot, however, draw them both in your picture because of the limitation of space, and are therefore compelled to deviate from your mental image.

      The “Auxerre Kore”, c. 640–630 B. C. Limestone, h: 75 cm. Musée du Louvre, Paris.

      Kore, Ex-voto offered by Nicandré, Delos Sanctuary, c. 650 B. C. Marble, h: 175 cm. National Archaeological Museum, Athens.

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