School encyclopedia. Scenery

Ivasyutina M. A.

Postgraduate student, St. Petersburg State Academic Institute of Painting, Sculpture and Architecture named after I.E. Repina

LANDSCAPE IN THE WORK OF EUGENE DELACROIX

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Despite the fact that landscape did not become the leading genre in the work of Eugene Delacroix, images of nature occupy a significant place in his art. Turning to views of Normandy and other French provinces, Delacroix anticipated the formation of a national landscape mid-19th century. And his achievements in the field of composition and color formed the basis of the searches of the Impressionists.

Keywords: landscape, romanticism, Eugene Delacroix.

Ivasyutina M. A.

PhD student, Repin State Academic Institute of Painting, Sculpture and Architecture of St. Petersburg

LANDSCAPE IN THE ART OF EUGENE DELACROIX

Abstract

In spite of the fact that the landscape hasn’t become a mainstream genre in art of Eugène Delacroix, painting Nature took an important place in his creative work. The article deals with his landscape paintings, which reveal the early signs of the French national landscape of the middle of the XIX century as well as the origins of the Impressionists’ vision and methods of art.

Keywords: landscape, Romanticism, Eugène Delacroix.

Having covered in his multifaceted creativity a wide range of philosophical and aesthetic problems relating to both modernity and the historical past of France, Eugene Delacroix (1798 - 1863) also turned to the depiction of nature. Although landscape did not become the leading genre in his art, some works that are true masterpieces landscape painting, influenced the searches of artists of subsequent generations.

At the same time, the image of nature has always occupied a significant place in the figurative concept of his program works. Thus, the gloomy appearance of the infernal swamp in “Dante’s Boat” (1822, Paris, Louvre), the plain stretching to the horizon in “The Massacre at Chios” (1824, Paris, Louvre) or the view of Paris shrouded in gunpowder smoke in “Freedom on the Barricades” (1830 , Paris, Louvre) are certainly a factor in the powerful emotional impact of his works. In the early period, a unique work in his work, “Still Life with Lobsters” (1826, Paris, Louvre), was created, representing a synthesis of a superbly painted still life and a landscape melting in the airy haze.

Delacroix created “pure” landscapes mainly in the late period of his creative career, starting from the late 1840s. And, despite the occasional appeal to this genre, its importance in the artistic heritage of the master is difficult to overestimate. After all, it was in small landscape sketches, which were not intended for public display and served as preparatory work for large canvases, that many important discoveries were made.

In general, the landscape, unable to reflect the pressing issues of the day, did not become the dominant genre of French romanticism. However, it is in the depiction of nature, which artists could endow with the most intimate emotions and experiences, that the mood of that time is perfectly reflected. Thus, in the romantic landscape, the feeling of disappointment of people in the first quarter of the 19th century, the feeling of the meaninglessness of what was happening and even the hostility of the surrounding world was expressed. Just as writers of the era of romanticism create scenes of terrible storms and thunderstorms that do not foretell a happy outcome for the heroes of events, so in painting a favorite type of landscape develops - gloomy and stormy, in which the vanity and short-term nature of human existence is exposed under the power of rebellious elements (Paul Huet, " A big wave in the vicinity of Honfleur", Paris, Louvre).

Another common type of romantic landscape was the oriental landscape, which demonstrated the craving of that time for everything exotic, distant, and unusual. Following Delacroix, many artists set out to “discover” the lands of North Africa and Asia Minor - Alexander Dean, Prosper Marilla and Eugene Fromentin, who keenly felt the originality of the way of life of these countries and the exotic brightness of southern nature. “They all painted genre scenes and landscapes that quite reliably recreate the impressions of eastern life and nature, but without the poetic spirituality that is characteristic of Delacroix.” Indeed, Delacroix revealed in his lively and temperamental works a special poetic world of the East, integral and harmonious. And the artist’s light and rich watercolors demonstrate an amazing insight into the beauties of nature, so unusual for the European gaze (“Environments of Tangier”, Paris, Louvre).

However, another line of the romantic landscape was more historically significant. “Filled with faith in nature as an inexhaustible source of poetry, with love for nature as their true god, romantic landscape painters set out to discover the land of France.” A genuine interest in the national landscape is already noticeable in the works of Georges Michel, Paul Huet and, especially, Eugene Delacroix, who were destined to play a significant role in the development of landscape painting of the 19th century. From now on, it is in the nature of their native country that artists find special emotional content and poetry.

Thus, a modest corner of French nature is depicted in Delacroix’s early work “Night Landscape” (c. 1826, Paris, Louvre), made in a light and refined pastel technique. River in the foreground, gentle hills in the distance and fragile autumn trees constitute his entire motive. However, it is filled with some kind of mystery and enigma, which is born from the contrast of the main dark blue tone, velvety and deep, with individual, almost phosphorescent, white strokes. It is no coincidence that such a landscape, where the romantic sense of grandeur and power of natural forces, in a certain stupor in the quiet hour of the night, is completely dominant, appeared in the early period of Delacroix’s work.

Subsequently, he moves away from any romantic cliches, choosing simple and modest motives and embodying them with the greatest degree of truthfulness and reliability. He travels a lot around France, visiting provinces such as Ile-de-France, Aquitaine and many others, and brings with him many sketches. Continuing the tradition of sincere and poetic depiction of nature, he frees painting from academic techniques of composition and color. In works such as “The Garden of George Sand at Nohant” (1842, New York, Metropolitan Museum of Art), he abandons the depiction of backstage and the generally accepted division into plans, immediately introducing the viewer into the shady space of the garden, enclosed by a group of mighty trees. “Landscape at Chanrose” (1849, Le Havre, Andre Malraux Art Museum) is surprising in its spontaneity, with its poetic interpretation of the autumn motif and rich nuance of hot color, conveying all shades of yellowing greenery. The transparency of the light layer of oil paint, applied in bold, broad strokes, suggests that this landscape may have been painted entirely from life. Although it is known that the artist often refined or completely reworked his sketches in the studio.

He was also interested in such small manifestations of natural life as flowers or the play of light on a white garden wall, as in the work “Garden Corner in Agerville” (c. 1855, private collection). It is made in pastels and testifies to Delacroix’s mastery of this exquisite and agile technique. With bold, free strokes, he quickly outlines the shapes, admiring the deep color and rich texture left by colored crayons. The watercolor sketch with two branches, as if fluttering under a gust of wind (“Two Branches with Leaves”, London, Courtauld Institute) is also remarkable for its ease of execution.

Working with watercolors occupies a very special place in the master’s work. Researchers often emphasize the influence of English artists on the formation creative method Delacroix and his appeal to this light and mobile technology. Indeed, his friendship with the British, especially Richard-Parkes Bonington, who settled in France, left an imprint on his artistic tastes. It is no coincidence that Delacroix had never been to Italy, the country of pilgrimage for all classic artists, but already in 1825 he visited England, where he saw the works of Constable, Turner, the Fielding brothers and many other talented landscape painters. Perhaps, being under their influence, he painted there a series of surprisingly light and fresh watercolors with views of English nature (“English Village”, 1825, Paris, Louvre).

However, watercolor acquired decisive importance in the artist’s work in the late period, especially during his stay in Normandy. The appeal to the nature of this province, its diffused northern light and the endless sea became a turning point in his landscape painting. Norman watercolors demonstrate Delacroix's sensitivity to the features of the local landscape and the truthfulness of their interpretation. He was particularly impressed by the grandiose rocks in Etretat: the Amon rock ("Port d'Amon, Etretat", 1849, Montpellier, Fabre Museum) and the Aval rock ("Rocks at Etretat", ca. 1859, Rotterdam, Boijmans-van Beuningen Museum ) (Ill. 1) with its famous monumental miraculous arch. With the spontaneity of vision, the naturalness of composition and the ability to convey the subtlest states of the atmosphere, Delacroix anticipates the achievements of his followers - the impressionists, who also turned to this motif. The artist captures the slightest bluish reflections from the sky and sea on the rocks, correctly capturing changes in their color under the influence of light and humid air. Thanks to the finest tonal development, he conveys both the play of open sunlight on stones (“Rocks in Normandy”, 1849, Paris, Louvre) and the colors of the evening landscape (“Rocks near Dieppe”, 1852-1855, Paris, Marmottan-Monet Museum). Watercolor with its light layer of paint and paper shining through it is ideally suited to convey the transparency of sea waves crashing against rocks and casting numerous shades and nuances.

Rice. 1 – Rocks at Etretat. Paper, watercolor. OK. 1859. Rotterdam, Boijmans-van Beuningen Museum

Not only the rocks, but also the sea itself, majestic and boundless, becomes the leading motif of a number of works by Delacroix. “The sea has always been my joy,” he said, “I can stand on the shore or on the edge of a cliff for three or four hours, unable to tear myself away from it.” It is this that is the main “hero” of Delacroix’s most famous picturesque landscape “The Sea at Dieppe” (1852, Paris, Louvre) (Ill. 2). The composition of the painting is simple, the horizon line divides it into two almost equal parts: the sea, depicted in close proximity to the viewer, and the cloudy sky. This work is distinguished not only by its amazing naturalness and impartiality of vision, but also by its extraordinary strength and richness of color. Delacroix builds color on a combination of additional tones, primarily deep blue and yellowish, extracting amazing pictorial effects from this contrast. “The stronger the opposites, the greater the brilliance,” said the master.

Rice. 2 – The sea in Dieppe. Canvas, oil. 1852. Paris, Louvre

Constantly observing the life of light in nature, changes in color depending on lighting and weather conditions, as well as thanks to the latest discoveries of scientists in this area, Delacroix develops his own coloristic principles. He was one of the first to notice that “light, halftone, shadow and reflex change almost all things.” “In Delacroix’s paintings, the color of each object exists in a complex coloristic context, is included in a holistic color harmony, enriching it and subordinating it.” His discoveries became fundamental in the further development of French art. He is far ahead of his time not only in the freedom of applying paint, but in his fine strokes he anticipates the style of the Impressionists.

A new era in landscape painting was also opened by his cursory sketches of the sky, made in the late 1840s - 1950s. Even Valenciennes and some English painters turned to the image of clouds, but no one before Delacroix endowed views of the sky with such power of expression and expressiveness of color. Depicting mainly the setting sun (“Study of sunset”, 1849, Paris, Louvre) (Ill. 3) and night views (“Study of the sky at dusk”, 1849, Paris, Louvre), he enhances the sound of color, and the pastel technique allows him to give special depth and softness. About twenty works, where a purely visual impression is recorded in literally a few sliding strokes, testify to Delacroix’s ongoing interest in unusual lighting effects. “There is no equal in Delacroix’s rendering of the sky,” said Théophile Thoré.

Rice. 3 – Sketch of sunset. Pastel. 1849. Paris, Louvre

Despite the fact that the artist himself considered these sketches, delighting the modern viewer, only as auxiliary material when working on large narrative canvases, where impressions of nature were synthesized into a single generalized image of nature, this part of Delacroix’s creative heritage played a huge role in the further development of French art. His searches in the field of composition, solutions to space and, most importantly, color formed the basis for the discoveries of the Impressionists.

Literature

• Venturi L. Artists of the New Age. St. Petersburg: ABC-classics, 2007 – 352 p.
• Masters of art about art. In 7 volumes: T.4.: XIX century. Ed. A.A. Gubera. M.: Art, 1967 – 750 p.
• Pio R. Delacroix Palette. M.-L.: OGIZ-IZOGIZ, 1932 – 54 p.
• Razdolskaya V.I. European art of the 19th century. Classicism, romanticism. St. Petersburg: ABC-classics, 2005 – 368 p.

References

1. Venturi L. Khudozhniki Novogo vremeni. SPb.: Azbuka-klassika, 2007. 352 s.
2. Mastera iskusstva ob iskusstve. V 7-mi t.: T.4.: XIX v. Pod red. A.A. Gubera.M.: Iskusstvo, 1967 – 750 s.
3. Pio R. Palitra Delakrua. M.-L.: OGIZ-IZOGIZ, 1932 – 54 s.
4. Razdol'skaia V.I. Evropeiskoe iskusstvo XIX century. Klassitsizm, romanticism. SPb.: Azbuka-klassika, 2005 – 368 s.
5. Johnson L. Delacroix. Pastels. London: John Murray, 1995 – 192 p.
6. Sérullaz A. Delacroix et la Normandie. Paris: Éditions de la Réunion des musées nationaux, 1993 – 112 p.
7. Sérullaz A., Pomared V. Delacroix. Les dernières annees. Paris: Éditions de la Réunion des musées nationaux, 1998 – 408 p.

3. IMAGE IN A LANDSCAPE

In landscape photographs, forests and fields, meadows and mountains, seas and rivers appear before the viewer, that is, natural nature. But the landscape is also artificial nature, created by man: urban architecture, rural huts, construction sites. We have said more than once that a frame is a subject-spatial structure. Since the landscape captures vast, extended places, the spatial component of the structure predominates in the photograph. In fact, he is the main subject of the image.

Natural landscapes differ from each other in their general outline and the objects located in them; landscape shots, among other things, differ from each other in expressive elements - linear and tonal rhythms. The main source of expressive elements in the landscape is the captured space. By connecting the rhythms contained in it, emphasizing some of them, the photographer achieves the originality and integrity of the frame; in other words, it achieves imagery.

The photographic landscape is imaginative primarily due to its spatial rhythm. However, some scientists question the very concept of “spatial rhythm”. From their point of view, rhythm is a temporary phenomenon, and it should be discussed only in the case when one phase of the process in a certain order and pace replaces another, and that one seems to disappear - dissolves in time, goes into oblivion. In a static picture or photograph, all phases are present - they can be seen simultaneously, immediately. By this visibility, any spatial order - be it linear or tonal - is fundamentally different from temporal order, which cannot be captured with one glance.

Anyone who argues this way does not take into account the fundamental fact of its significance - that both types of processes are caused by the same cause. The French esthetician J. Mitry writes that rhythm is perceived by us as “an alternation of tensions and releases, which are nothing more than a constantly renewed conflict” of forces that predetermine the dynamics of the process. Also, the Soviet literary critic B. Tomashevsky emphasized that “the system of distributing the energy of pronunciation over time constitutes the natural rhythm of speech.” According to Tomashevsky, the root cause and fundamental principle of rhythm is energy, that is, ultimately, again, force.

Let us now remember that the line is perceived by the artist as an expression of the “internal forces” contained in the object. Let us once again refer to Favorsky, who wrote that a straight line expresses a uniform and rather fast movement, and an uneven curve models a movement that will either accelerate or slow down. On straightened places the movement will accelerate, but on rounded places, like on bends, it will slow down. What Favorsky said completely coincides with Mitry’s description of the temporal rhythm.

Since in temporal and spatial orderings there is a sense of dynamics, a pulsation of a certain force, then for the viewer they are identical. The identity of the processes is not canceled by the fact that in one case all phases are seen at once, and in the other they appear one after the other. This difference is not so great and significant. Let each temporary phase be replaced by a new one, but, realizing the nature of the dynamics, imagining its pattern, the perceiver remembers the “disappearing” phases, that is, keeps them all together before his mind’s eye. That is why both spatial and temporal rhythm appear before the viewer in the simultaneity of their phases. True, spatial rhythm is real simultaneity, while temporal rhythm is imaginary simultaneity, created by our memory.

Although both types of rhythms are identical in nature, this does not mean that they work in the same way. The art historian F. Schmit considered, for example, music, poetry, and dance to be “rhythmically poor,” and painting, sculpture, and architecture to be “rhythmically rich.” Schmit's thought should probably be understood this way: in a work that recreates a temporal process - musical, poetic, ballet - the artist builds only one rhythmic line from successive phases. On the contrary, in a painting, in a statue, in an architectural structure, many rhythmic lines are present; each of them can have its own rhythm. This means that in the visual arts, many rhythms are present in the works. Therefore, these arts are richer than rhythmically “one-line” ones - music, poetry, dance.

In a landscape, the semantic functions of rhythm increase in comparison with portraits and “genre”, which is why we started talking about it. In portrait and “genre” people are depicted in their characteristics, in their psychological states. The psychology of the characters depicted is significant for the viewer; Consequently, the portrait and the “genre” have a direct impact - not necessarily built up by the lines and tones of the photograph. People can also be present in a landscape shot; however, here they act mostly as staff - they are not characterized psychologically, but play a service role, being integral part compositions. As a result, a landscape photograph with people does not have the direct impact that is inherent in the portrait and the “genre”. This loss is compensated by the expressive properties of inanimate material - imprinted space. The rhythms themselves are expressive and impactful. That’s why the landscape painter strives to reveal them in the photograph.

Format. The rhythm of the captured space is recreated in the frame on the pictorial plane. At the same time, the author is forced to take into account the configuration and dimensions of the plane, that is, the format. Analyzing this problem, B. Vipper noted that “the nature of the format is most closely connected with the entire internal structure of a work of art and often even indicates the correct path to understanding the concept.” Indeed, the same landscape is perceived differently in a horizontal and vertical frame. A horizontal photograph unfolds a panorama of distances before the viewer, the photograph exudes an epic calm, the dynamics of clouds, air masses, waves running onto the shore - in general, any frontal movement - are clear in it. A vertical frame, especially with a low horizon, is convenient for conveying the vastness and height of the airspace; with a high horizon, it “raises” the surface of the earth receding into the distance. Such shots are characterized by monumentality. In the square format, the most difficult for compositional construction, any “movement inevitably stops, freezes, becomes closed, since none of the directions receives an advantage.”

The choice of format is dictated by nature, but its interpretation by the photographer is decisive. The reason for choosing one format or another lies in how he felt the motive, how well the motive corresponds to his ideas about nature. Unlike painters, who can freely vary the aspect ratio of the picture, the photographer is bound by the given proportions of the frame window of his camera. After all, cropping the image on the negative during printing is usually preferred to the composition of the image during shooting, because cropping during printing often deforms the found structure of space.

Horizon. The rhythmic construction of the frame also depends on how the pictorial plane is divided by the horizon line. B. Vipper called the horizon “the tuning fork of composition.”

In modern photographic landscapes, the horizon line is often lowered, which is why the part of the frame occupied by the sky increases in the composition. A decrease in the horizon more clearly reveals a brightening of tone in the direction from the foreground to the background. As a result, the details of the foreground, protruding against a light background, are seen in silhouette. A low horizon, especially in a vertical format, evokes the feeling that the space seems to be directed into the expanses of the sky; this is exactly how the work of R. Penov “Morning” is perceived.

A high horizon produces the opposite effect - the air space above the ground decreases, but the surface of the earth entering the frame expands. Thanks to this, distances between objects, as well as their scale and spatial relationships, are conveyed more accurately than with a low horizon. Indicative in the sense of their transfer is the frame by A. Erin “The Yakhroma River”.

The position of the horizon is predetermined linear perspective image, through which its depth is built. With a low point of view, lines going upward predominate, as in the industrial landscape of G. Dryukov, where the mobility of lines and their dynamics are enhanced by wide-angle optics. This is why objects in the foreground look more massive and majestic, while distant objects have sharply decreased in size.

Raising the horizon draws the viewer's eye to the ground; the sky in such landscapes occupies a small part of the image or is absent altogether, the picture takes on the features of a panoramic view. They examine it sequentially, with a movement in depth - the eye is “led” there by the main lines with their rhythm, as, for example, in the photograph “Motorway” by A. Kunchius.

Photographers don't often place the horizon line in the middle of the frame because it tends to make the composition look static. However, J. Kalvyalis managed to overcome staticism in his work “Dune-V”. The strong movement of the clouds and the dune ridge inland contrasts here with the static nature of the overall structure. Action-reaction increased the expressiveness of the space, movement remained in it and majestic calm appeared.

Sky and clouds. Sometimes, with a low horizon, the earth occupies only a small part of the pictorial plane, as if pressed against the bottom edge of the picture. The narrow strip of land seems to be pressed by the enormity of the sky and airspace. In such cases the sky and air environment acquire the quality of monumentality, because their enormity becomes tangible. Thus, the sky and the environment are characterized through their dimensions. The image format and the location of the horizon line play an active role in achieving monumentality.

Photographers achieve the expressiveness of airspace not only through size. Space can be “personalized” thanks to clouds. “Heavenly clouds, eternal wanderers” are not perceived by the viewer as carriers of the objective content that, say, a house, tree or hill has. Essentially, the clouds become exponents of pure rhythm in the frame. Their smoothness and splendor, or, conversely, their fragmentation, sets a certain emotional tone for the photograph.

A similar role was assigned to clouds already by photographers of the 19th century, from the first steps of landscape photography. That's why I complained famous photographer that time G. Robinson that at the moment of shooting the sky is rarely expressive, that is, capable of setting the desired emotional tone for the frame. Robinson developed a whole set of rules for imprinting separately photographed clouds into a composition. Since then, this technique has been used as a means of creating mood in a photo. Any photography manual will describe how to incorporate “light cumulus clouds” into a landscape so that it “acquires special expressiveness and charm.” True, other supporters of “pure photography” are convinced that imprinting violates the integrity of space, affecting its structure and destroying connections in it.

Sometimes only the clouds are captured in a landscape photo. Such, for example, is a series of ten frames created by A. Stieglitz. “Through clouds,” the master wrote, “I wanted to express my worldview, I wanted to show that my photographs are not at all connected with certain objects, trees, faces or interiors... Clouds are equally visible to everyone...”

By in my own words Stieglitz, he wanted his shots - thanks to their rhythmicity - to be like musical works. The distinction between spatial and temporal rhythms, so dear to theorists, turned out to be insignificant for practitioners.

Modern photographers also choose “cloud motifs”. The visual and compositional center in G. Harutyunyan’s photograph “Height” was a cumulus cloud, whimsical in configuration. Its soft, plump texture is emphasized by black and white modeling, and its shaky outlines are clearly readable against the background of the black sky. The pointed, irregular edges of the gray stones highlight the ephemerality and fluidity of the cloud, slowly growing from behind the rocky solid. Its viscous, slow movement takes place in the sterile space of the mountain heights, where the environment, the air are not perceptible, where time is frozen in stone.

Harutyunyan’s frame is expressive thanks to linear and tonal contrast. Linear constructions are also important in V. Krokhin’s work “Stormy Sky”. The mountain landscape here is generalized - given as if in a tectonic structure. The dark massif of the ridge is “broken” by a sand-colored cliff. The upper contour of the ridge slowly “creeps” upward - its bends are smoother and calmer than the ragged edges of the clouds, also moving from left to right. The linear dissonance between the ridge and the clouds resonates in color dissonance.

True, the dominant color spot of the cliff in the frame with greenish, brown and yellow tints organically combines with the purple clouds, but the overall color tone of the cliff is more harmonized compared to the violent changes from light purple to dark blue in the rapidly rushing clouds.

Light in the landscape. The tonal rhythm of a photograph is primarily determined by lighting. It can transform any motive, it can create the mood that the photographer seeks. Intense counter-side light gives bright highlights on objects and deep shadows, bringing lightness and joy to the motif. Counter, backlight draws silhouettes, “ignites” luminous halos around them, filling the space with movement. Lateral - emphasizes the texture of surfaces, volumetrically models objects. Direct light from the camera eliminates shadows but flattens the space.

Light often highlights the main objects in the landscape and forms the semantic center of the frame. Under natural conditions, the photographer, as it were, indirectly controls the light, changing the shooting point, waiting for the sun to take the desired position or the clouds to cover it. The reflection of sunlight from cloud cover, water or snow gives special lighting effects that significantly change the tonality of the frame.

Light can influence the expressiveness of a composition, and primarily the tonal perspective. In cloudy weather, as well as shortly before sunrise or after sunset, the lighting is soft, diffused, and there are no clear shadows. The volumes and textures of objects are expressed in general terms, and the depth of space is poorly felt. This lighting regime inspires a feeling of serenity and idyllic nature.

With the sunrise, everything transforms - the volumes and textures of objects appear in relief, long shadows give an idea of ​​the depth of space, nature is filled with movement. Light drowns out the “voices” of some objects and makes others sound louder. Thanks to the light fluxes, both of them acquire plasticity of shapes and clarity of contours. Oncoming light in a photograph by I. Purinin

The image in the landscape "Morning Dawn" made the image whole. Volumes softly outlined, clouds began to play over the horizon. Everything was shrouded in morning haze, and objects unnecessary according to the artist’s plan went into the shadows.

Light here is the source of movement, it falls from above, from behind, literally floods the road and runs along the wires. Due to the light contrast, large masses (figures, road, clouds) seemed to move forward, and small ones rushed back. There was a sense of movement in space toward the viewer and counter movement into the depths of the frame. Light and movement gave rise to a romantic emotion in the photograph, which is consonant with the state of a woman carrying a child.

Light works in a completely different way in A. Erin’s work “Russian Landscape”: a stream of light breaks through a gap in the swirling clouds and falls in a narrow strip onto the village in the distance. Academician Likhachev wrote that the Russian landscape “seems to be pulsating, it either thins out and becomes more natural, then it condenses in villages, churchyards and cities, and becomes more human. In the village and in the city, the same rhythm of parallel lines continues, which begins with the arable land. Furrow to furrow, log to log, street to street. Large rhythmic divisions are combined with small, fractional ones. One smoothly passes to the other." Using photographic means, Erin makes the pulsation characteristic of the Central Russian landscape intense and gives it tension.

The furrows of the arable land flow deep into the photograph, but not directly perpendicular to the pictorial plane, but obliquely, along the “diagonal of departure.” This direction makes one feel some kind of latent energy in the dynamics of the furrows. Their movement, like a barrier, is blocked by a light strip of sun and a dark wall of the forest. It seems that the furrows forcefully rest against the barrier - the energy contained in them is thereby emphasized and “sounds” more intensely.

The frame format is horizontal. Whipper noted that when the format is horizontal, sometimes a special emotional effect occurs: the viewer feels as if the top of the image is pressing on the bottom. The top of Erin's photo feels heavy. This feeling was born not only from the format, but also from the stormy movement of the clouds. Under the weight of the dynamic top, the horizon seemed to lower and become low. The frame exudes an epic scale, as happens in panoramic shots. The author made extremely visible the “internal forces” of space, which are in a state of rapid dynamics.

Tonal dominant. The rhythm is sometimes set by tonal spots, as in the aforementioned photograph by Erin, where the gray masses of clouds introduced tension into the motif. However, just as often, photographers try to get away from tonal fragmentation and make space the bearer of one, main, dominant tone. In this case, space acquires a certain character and its dramatic role in the plot.

This role is predetermined by the sensory associations that this or that tonality evokes. The color black is associated with something mysterious, unknown, and therefore a landscape in a dark tone looks dramatic, often regardless of the plot. The predominance of white and shades of light gray gives rise to a rather joyful, positive mood. Nowadays, contrast printing with a predominance of dark tones is popular among photographers. The blackness in the photographs seems to float onto objects, concealing their outlines - the space filled with darkness feels “strong”, dissolving the objects that are immersed in it.

The opposition of the object to the blackness that absorbs it forms the plot of the frame shot by the Italian photographer M. Bocci. Darkness has enveloped the sky and earth, there is not a single living creature around, only a bright spot - a lonely house, hidden in a mountain valley, is perceived as a timid sign that life is glimmering here. The house is in conflict with the environment, it seems to be pressing on the lonely building, as if trying to absorb it, but the house holds firm, maintaining its integrity.

The city landscape of L. Limanets “In Memory of Sudek”, decided in the same dark tonality, is not dramatic, but rather elegiac. A similar feeling is created by the softness with which the light streams flow into the darkness of the night, scattering in endless variations. gray tone. The space saturated with them carefully envelops objects, so their contours melt into the environment, the rhythms are smoothed out. Using the expressive possibilities of tone, the photographer created a landscape of mood that fully corresponds to the title of the photograph.

Light tonality has white as its dominant color and various shades of light gray, giving a softened contrast. To enhance it and thereby emphasize the main tone, a black spot or line is introduced into the image. Light tonality is devoid of drama; there is always a sense of possible harmony in it.

Winter photographs usually gravitate towards a light tonality: the whiteness of the snow, which dominates here, is perceived as a sign of a frozen, hidden, hidden life. A. Barinov's work "Two" is a typical winter landscape with people; the sky here is covered with a gray veil, the air is damp and humid. Black figures and silhouettes of trees contrast with the light gray mass of sky and snow - homelessly lonely, as if lost in the scale of space. The smallness of human figures, together with the fragility of young trees that have not yet matured, as if frozen in a bizarre rhythmic dance, personify in Barinov the dormant forces of life, still shackled by cold and snow.

The concept of tonality applies to black and white images. Its analogue in images of color is color, that is, unity, a certain general sound of colors. For the photo “Blue Twilight” L. Sherstennikov probably suggested the coloring to the time of day itself. In poetic representations, evening is the time when nature goes to sleep. According to such ideas, the coloring of the photograph is peaceful and even; at the same time, there is a clear sense of elegance in it. The composition is also calm in its linear structure: wooden piles go rhythmically and rhythmically into the depths, the wave behind the lighthouse is sleepy and calm. The only disturbing element in the frame is the carmine red light of the lighthouse, enhanced by two streaks of light. Standing out from the general color scheme, both fire and dashes make the blue color sound even more intense.

Subject and environment. The meaning of both Bocci and Barinov’s photographs is built by the relationships between the captured objects and the environment. Arnheim noted that in the human visual field, some components play the role of a “figure,” that is, what attention is focused on, while others act as a “base,” like the foundation on which the figure is placed. Of course, the spatial base is not located under the figure, it surrounds it on all sides and does not so much support as explain and interpret. In a portrait and a “genre”, the primary, explained figure is a person or a group of characters, while the environment serves as the basis for them. In the landscape the ratio changes. Here the space itself becomes the interpreted, explained figure, and the objects included in it become the basis. They characterize space with their rhythm and content.

In “Landscape No. 7” by P. Langowitz, a device for transporting building blocks is transformed through foreshortening into a giant beetle or robot, which seems to be endowed with strength and will. In the photo, the “robot” is not important in itself - it seems that the slender, massive bulk of modern buildings visible in the background arose thanks to the power concentrated in this fantastic character. It truly feels like a foundation that not so much explains the architectural environment as is the cause of its emergence.

Langowitz reproduces an urban environment, but the captured objects can also serve as the basis for a natural landscape. In the famous work of E. Spouris “Landscape with Boys,” a group of boys becomes such a basis. Their diverse and multidirectional movements indicate the “fragility” and pulsation of the imprinted space. It seems to scatter in different directions, directed by the poses and gestures of the guys and at the same time is perceived as unity, since the group is solid and moves in one direction, up the slope - to where the light falls from.

This group is rhythmically connected with the environment: the children’s silhouettes are as multidirectional as the bushes in the background, and the light hollow along which the boys move is consonant in tone with the illuminated strip of sky near the horizon. The “fragility” of the group here characterizes the violent turbulence of the environment, which is about to manifest itself in gusts of wind, the first drops of rain.

A special and unexpected object serves as the basis that characterizes the space in the photograph by R. Rakauskas from the series “New Architecture of Lithuania”. This item is a gas pipeline pipe. Critic L. Anninsky writes about the photograph: “The pipe in modern “ecological” experience is a symbol of anti-natural “dirt”... What does Rakauskas do? He brings the pipe to life! Its twists, the moisture of its surface, the folds of the knees - everything suggests a comparison either with a snake, or with the stem of a giant plant..."

From here the critic concludes that for the Lithuanian photographer “the world is not divided into “living” and “inanimate”, into “natural” and “human”, in general into “this” and “that” - the world is one.” The trumpet-snake sets a certain view of the “single world”, interpreting it meaningfully.

The ground along which it “crawls” is uplifted and rounded by wide-angle optics, and therefore appears to be the back of an ancient lizard. The comparison is also justified by the new houses on the horizon: they are like a bony ridge on the backbone of a dinosaur. The pipe “crawls” towards this ridge not like a natural, real snake. When moving, the body wriggles in a smooth, harmonious sinusoid, while the pipe bends almost at a right angle. The areas between the bends are straight and even. According to Favorsky, in a straight line you feel a uniform and fairly fast movement. It is also felt in sections of the pipe that go deeper, but soon the charge of dynamics runs out, and a section appears parallel to the pictorial plane - the pipe “accumulates” strength for a new jerk. The alternation of multidirectional segments gives rise to the idea of ​​the difficult, tense movement of a mechanical snake. Thanks to such associations, visible space is perceived as the focus of powerful, primordial, primordial forces that manifest their action in any reality - be it natural or industrial. And therefore the world is truly one.

Rhythms of space. In the photographs discussed above, the visible environment is characterized by objects. The imprinted space can also “explain” itself - through the rhythm of its movement.

The park path in I. Larionova’s “Foggy Morning” goes deeper to the right along the “diagonal of struggle.” Arnheim pointed out that we do not see pure movement, but perceive it through objects that participate in the movement. In "Foggy Morning" the objects through which movement can be read are trees. The measured intervals between them seem to count down the beats, the beats of the track. The “diagonal of struggle” is always tense - in Larionova this tension is maintained and intensified by the rhythmic movement of bare, knotty trunks with swells and growths. In the background, the fog thickens - the path seems to be trying to break through a viscous, amorphous medium, and in the end, having failed to cope with the task, it sinks and dissolves in it. The resistance of the environment makes you feel the “inner forces” of the track even more acutely. Its movement marks the dynamics of the depicted space, and the tension of this movement indicates not only the nature of the space, but also its power “charge”.

In the photograph “After the Storm” by I. Apkalns, space “flows” frontally from right to left. The frame is expressive and filled with dynamics: the wind, which pressed the tall stems of grass to the ground, scattered the clouds in the same gust. Their movement, as well as that of air masses, is emphasized by increased contrast thanks to shooting with counter-lateral light, which clearly models the volumes, which is why they themselves often seem mobile. The bent stems made the force of the wind noticeable, and the sharp cut-off pattern increased the tension of the frame. In the depths of it is a walking man. However, this figure is not the main character, but a part of nature, like grass, wind, clouds, hills. A person sets the scale of the landscape; his movement against the wind also indicates the intense dynamics of space.

In any image, along with the movement of the environment, the viewer's gaze also moves. A. Fedorov-Davydov writes about such a movement that it is accomplished “through... transitions of vision from plane to plane, from objects located on one plane to objects of a subsequent plane.” In this case, “the eye seems to go around the trees or some other objects in the foreground or follows the bend of the river into the depths, then lingers on the distant plans and gets lost near the horizon.”

According to the researcher, such “movement is a means of developing the plot in the landscape, makes it interesting to look at, and gives ambiguity to the image.”

In order for the eye to follow the picture in depth, it must be lined up. Depth is clearly readable if clear reductions in perspective are given or some objects are overlapped by others (the so-called occlusion). Photographers make sure that the obscuring object is textured and volumetrically modeled. In the photograph “Old Castle” by S. Timofeeva, the grass and bushes in the foreground are textured, but try to remove the texture - cover the objects with a piece of black paper - and the space will immediately become flat and lose depth.

A similar experiment can be done with the photograph “On the Neva” by V. Shustov. Here the foreground is occupied by the shadow of the grating, and the perspective contractions of the shadow lines give a clear idea of ​​the size of the foreground space. The lattice pattern itself brings into the frame the classicism of the linear rhythm of “cast iron fences.” The silhouettes of city buildings fit comfortably into the ellipses and ovals of the cast iron pattern - the lattice seems to draw them into its rhythm. At the same time, thanks to the ribbon of the river and the gaps on it, a distance is felt between the lattice and the buildings - the lattice and the buildings feel distant from each other. It’s as if two opposing tendencies are fighting here: “pulling in”, thanks to which the buildings fit into the rhythm of the pattern, and “disconnecting”. However, let us repeat the same procedure with Shustov’s photograph as with Timofeeva’s photograph - we close the lower part, remove the shadows from the lattice - and the foreground space will disappear for the viewer. Along with the disappearance of the foreground, the distance between the lattice and the buildings will immediately disappear, the latter will “stick” to it, and the “pulling” tendency will win.

In photographs with deep space, the gaze moves from the foreground into the distance, as Fedorov-Davshchov wrote about. Through the pace of this movement, the character of the captured space is realized - depending on the ease or difficulty of moving the gaze, the space seems either smooth, solemnly and slowly flowing towards the horizon, then rushes into the distance with jerks, or rushes in a stormy stream. To see this dynamics and its rhythm, let’s return to the already familiar photograph by A. Erin “Yakhroma River”.

There are several plans here, they are being examined gradually. First, the eye glides along the bends of the river, then distinguishes bushes and trees; the space widens for us, but in the end we rest our gaze on the forest approaching the river. Its dark stripe does not seem oppressive, the horizontal frame format also does not give the feeling that the space is compressed vertically, since the horizon is high and the “sky” part is completely absent in the picture. Thanks to the found point of view, the frame is filled with solemnity and grandeur; it is monumental.

The eye moves easily and smoothly along the S-shaped bend of the river. The verticals of the trees do not detain him - the trees are freely and whimsically, in a free rhythm, dispersed throughout the visible space. The small grove on the right, like the bushes on the banks, is sculpted with chiaroscuro in every detail. In the forest in the background and in the grove, tree trunks are visible: these plant masses seem to be crushed into small parts, but do not lose their integrity. Detailed study massive forms give the space width and air. The river meanders freely across this expanse - its bends extend unhindered from the left to the right edge of the photo. If you compare these bends with the tense “movement” of the pipe at Rakauskas, you will clearly feel how different the character of the space here is.

In R. Penov’s photograph “Morning” the space moves deeper in jerks - three close-in, but different in tone, plans are clearly visible in the frame. The milky light softly outlined the foreground trees, while in the background the haze eats up the darkness, and objects are highlighted. The gradation of tones marks the “jerks” of space, and the mighty crowns of trees, occupying the main part of the frame, emphasize the infinity of height to which the space moves.

The square format of J. Kalvalis's "Dune-V" does not give an advantage to the movement of the main lines of the composition neither to the right, nor to the left, nor up or down - the square directs them inward. The line separating the shadowed part of the dune from the light one, the line on the border of the light part of the dune and the dark strip of the forest, the line of the bay and the line of clouds, in complete agreement with each other, lead the viewer’s gaze to the horizon along the “diagonal of departure.” They are like four sides of a single space; Thanks to these edges, it seems to be flowing smoothly and peacefully into the depths. However, his peace is deceptive. All four lines undergo a break somewhere in the middle, and after that they turn even more sharply to the “diagonal of departure.” The break seemed to be caused by some powerful push from hidden forces hidden in nature. Using meager means - just the rhythm of lines - the photographer created an idea of ​​the tectonic energy filling the captured space.

Color photography presented a new challenge for landscape photography. Rhythm in black and white photography could be linear and tonal - with color came the addition of color. She did not cancel the previous types of rhythms, but entered into a complex interaction with them. Its contribution to the expression of the frame varies quite widely: sometimes color rhythm dominates, sometimes it turns out to be a factor of equal value and equal rights with others.

A. Sutkus in “New Architecture” dynamizes space with wide-angle optics. The brick wall and the shaded part of the loggia formed something like a neck, giving direction to the space. Behind the neck it rapidly moves deeper - the tension of this dynamics is emphasized by the lines of the buildings. The lines are elongated and lengthened - also thanks to optics. The fluid, dynamized space abuts a solid wall of dark green forest. The sky above it and the buildings is coloristically restless - its overall blue color contains many shades: from whitish blue to deep blue. The rhythmically alarming sky is contrasted with a smooth lilac stripe of railings and a dark blue shadow on part of the building. The sky, stripe and shadow seem to form a trihedron, from which lines extending deeper emerge. Their rapid run is delayed and extinguished by the static of the forest. The rhythm of blue expressively interacts with the linear rhythm in the photograph. And among all this tension, an island of emerald greenery in the courtyard of the building, not covered by shadow, feels like an oasis of calm.

The dynamics of space in P. Krivtsov’s work (photograph “On Dikson Island”, 59) is built mainly by linear means. The color of the snow on the hills, ice and air in the background are essentially the same - as if some kind of coldish-silver veil with a bluish tint covered the foreground and the distance. The ground, in places cleared of snow, stones rise from below, from the right corner of the frame and, turning in a complex circular motion, rush into the depths. The verticals visible in the photograph - a standing figure, a cross - seem to restrain the dynamics of space, which makes it seem even more dramatic.

The mobility of the lines in Krivtsov’s work is dissonant with the static color. The photographer was not happy with such static, so a sharp-angled blue spot was introduced into the frame at the top, like a splash of freshness and clarity.

In “Quiet Backwater” by V. Gippenreiter, color rhythms dominate. The space depicted here is clearly divided into plans: the first is occupied by water and the sedge rising from it; the second is formed by a frontal row of trees; behind them lies the endless distance of the third plan. The primary grass stems stick out like stubble, contrasting with their sharpness and fragmentation with the rounded, calm-looking tree crowns. However, the main contrast here is not linear, but color. Yellow and green dominate in the sedge; these colors contrast with the rich blue of the water. As you move deeper, the opposition weakens and fades away - the yellowness and greenery become less sonorous, the color of the water turns into blue, blurred and faded. A gradual decrease in color saturation gives the image a color perspective - blue fades away smoothly, with some kind of restraint, in contrast to yellow, which goes deeper in restless jerks, losing intensity. In the general movement of space from the foreground to the background, the colors draw their own special “trajectories”, forming a rhythmic polyphony.

These examples, like others given above, seem to indicate that the expressiveness of a landscape is, first of all, the expressiveness of its rhythms. And therefore the art of landscape is, first of all, the art of creating rhythmic space.

In essence, the character of its rhythm is conveyed by two different ways; they can be called discrete and continuous. In the first case, space is divided into plans, as in Penov or Apkalns, and then the spatial rhythm is read by the location and linear contrasts of objects in each local zone. These zones may also differ in gradations or contrasts of tone. As a result of this intermittency, the rhythm feels measured and clear, and therefore seems more like the creation of the author than a property of the captured nature.

However, spatial rhythm can be conveyed in another way - by a smooth, non-discrete movement of lines deep into the frame, as was the case with Erin or Kalvalis. The color photographs discussed above leave the impression that photographers, even when working with color, still give preference to the familiar ones, mastered in black and white material ways of rhythmizing space. After all, in both Sutkus and Krivtsov, it is the continuous rhythm of the movement of lines into the depth of the image that is dominant. Unlike these authors, Gippenreiter strives to overcome the linearity of spatial rhythm, building it coloristically.

Such a desire confronts photography with the same problem that painting has been working hard to solve for a long time and is still solving. It contains the concepts of color and colorism. The first is interpreted by painting theorists as the totality of all colors viewed from a certain distance. By its nature, the color can be bright, sharp, soft, warm or cold. Colorism is the artist’s inherent sense of tonal harmonies and dynamic nuances, thanks to which the painting seems to breathe, pulsate, and flicker before the viewer’s eyes. The painter G. M. Shegal wrote about such a pulsation: “... all forms are given in the dynamics of their interaction (which is facilitated by both the stroke and the entire writing technique) ... not a single element of the image is static, regardless of whether it is moving a character or a piece of a wall. Everything lives and moves with an obvious or hidden life in an “end-to-end” plastic unity.” According to Shegal, colorism primarily reveals the author’s vision of the world; the artist's eye and hand decide the space of the picture, achieving full-voiced color and clear form, while colorism gives life to the image in the “color ovary” that arises every time when working on a theme.

Colorism is the highest manifestation of the artistic gift. It’s not for nothing that artists have a saying: “drawing can be taught, but a colorist must be born.” As for the photographer, even if he has such a gift, its implementation in light painting is difficult, since in creating tonal harmonies he, more than a painter, depends on nature and technology. Nevertheless, the massive transition to color slide photography has confronted photographers with the problem of colorism, and it is clear why: a figurative solution using color requires a different vision of the world than in black and white photography.

1. WHAT IS AN IMAGE? Traditional definitions. A photograph, as has been said, is a pictorial statement. Every statement contains three types of connections. First, it relates to the speaker; secondly, with what is being discussed; thirdly, with those who